


Faulty Start

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward First Times, Continuation of Car Trouble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Marijuana Use, Nonbinary Character, One Night Stands, Other, Professor Gabriel, mechanic beelzebub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23846602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: The story of a mechanic and classics professor who have absolutely nothing in common but fall in love anyway.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 256
Kudos: 500
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekwill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekwill/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Car Trouble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193215) by [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock). 



> this work owes a life debt to seekwill whose IB fic [Pretend to Be Nice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536805/chapters/53853859) sent me into a gabe/beez tailspin even as I wrote Car Trouble and I knew the minute I started to like Bee as a character that I was going to end up here. I've borrowed seek's last name for Beez because it's brilliant and felt wonderfully right
> 
> to Euny, a magnificent beta, thanks for holding my hand and reminding me that i can write things that make sense.
> 
> Shout out to the IB server for supporting me!!! <3
> 
> CW: mentions of bad relationships with siblings, mention of drug use by a family member

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note: much like in Car Trouble, Crowley and Bee express some contempt for NA's approach to sobriety due to it's religious aspects. Please be aware this occurs in the fic and does not reflect my personal opinion.

Bee Prince, previously Beezus, and before that, Beatrice, was an arsehole. And proud of it.

They’d always been small and once upon a time that had been used against them. Thus their arsehole tendencies.

Before they’d figured out how to scare people off with sharp teeth and sharper words, it had been their older brother Lucian who had looked out for them on the school yard. Five years older, always bigger, same coarse black hair and eyes so brown they looked black.

The two of them looked like siblings and yet, where Bee was frail, Lucian was strong. Where they were plain, Lucian was handsome. It was how it went with them, being so different but on the same side.

For a long time, Bee was proud to be Lucian’s younger sibling.

Until they weren't.

They weren't proud because Lucian was selling drugs and using and crashing on Bee's couch while Bee was still trying to figure out how to be an adult after their parents had died.

They weren't proud because Lucian used them and fucked off with their money.

So Bee fucked off north, went to trade school, scrimped and saved and lived on beans and bread and when they finally decided they were ready for their own shop, their own place, they went back to London and found Luc.

He owed them and he knew it. All that bullshit he’d done to them. He’d apologized of course. He’d gone to meetings and got sober and run down the list of people he’d wronged including Bee. That apology had benefited them because they needed somewhere to stay. So they moved into his spare room and ignored the too skinny, skittish man that Luc called his boyfriend. Or sometimes Crowley, even though it seemed peculiar to call your boyfriend of two years by his last name.

And all the while, Crowley looked at Bee with something like fear in his unnerving brown eyes.

Bee mostly ignored him. They were busy working out loans and tracking down real estate.

Bee was going to be a mechanic. Was going to be their own person.

This was where that was supposed to begin.

Except Luc.

Fucking Luc.

Sometimes life didn't go according to plan. Bee’s never had.

* * *

Bee had a tradition that no one knew about. Not even Crowley, who knew most things about them at this point.

Bee liked to go to a bar on Wednesday night. Purchase one whiskey sour and read a book of poetry. 

It was their weekly moment of bliss. Something slow between the grind of motor oil and machines. They always did it. Skipping only in cases of illness or emergency. 

Helen’s was a quiet place. A bit on the posh side. But that just meant better alcohol and less rowdy clientele.

Bee was a quarter of the way through their whiskey sour and 4 poems into the new Natalie Diaz when they were distracted by a large hand atop the bar. Said hand was connected to a disturbingly long arm which was attached to an even more disturbingly tall man. He had the sort of jaw that was so sharp you wanted to punch it just to see if it would break your knuckles. 

The bartender approached. "What can I get you, sir?"

And then his jaw was working, his mouth opening to reveal perfect white teeth.

"A cabernet, please,” he said, his voice all flat r’s and long vowels.

Of course. He was an American.

Bee snorted and went back to their reading, instinctively curling tighter in on themselves to avoid being noticed.

"Do I know you?" Tall, Perfect and Prickish asked, one hand coming up to point in their direction.

Bee glanced at him to confirm he was actually talking to them. He looked vaguely familiar but that was probably because he looked like every American movie star from the 1950s. It didn’t exactly matter if they knew him or not. They weren’t interested in chatting.

"No," they said simply before turning back to their book.

"I could swear I've seen you - wait - you came by the classics department to talk to Aziraphale!" the man exclaimed, clapping his hands together in absurd delight.

Bee winced. Fuck, he was loud.

"Right," Bee said with an indulgent nod. Agree and the weirdo will leave. "Must've been that."

A glass of cabernet appeared on the bar top.

"I’m Gabriel Winger, head of the classics department at Tadfield," the man said, sticking his too-large hand into their space. Bee regarded it and decided playing along would probably get him to leave sooner. They shook it. His wide palm practically engulfed theirs. 

Bee had always been tiny. It had been a long time since they’d felt delicate.

They looked at _Gabriel_ again. Eyelashes that belonged in a makeup ad. Fitted gray polo neck that probably cost more than fifty quid. Eyes so blue they were almost purple.

Fucking monstrous.

"Bee," they said, withdrawing their hand quickly and ignoring the sharp spark of interest the touch had ignited in their gut. 

“Short for Beatrice or…”

“No, short for Beelzebub,” Bee snapped sarcastically before pointedly returning their gaze to their book. 

Gabriel laughed, a sort of huffing snort. An ugly sound that Bee liked against their better judgment.

“Alright then,” he said, sounding vaguely amused. “Nice to see you again, _Beelzebub_.”

Bee didn’t watch as he walked off with his cabernet and took a seat with a woman who also looked like something out of an ad campaign. Bee humphed at the sight before turning back to their book. 

There was something comforting about seeing Handsome Man meet Pretty Woman, knowing the picture perfect pair would certainly kiss and make babies. That was how the world worked and Bee liked to know they were right about it. 

* * *

Bee put the odd interaction out of their mind. They put up with Crowley’s inane whistling - to be frank, they were glad he was happy but whistling? Really? They just turned up their 00s Greatest Hits playlist to drown him out.

And then Gabriel showed up the next Wednesday. He slid onto the bar stool next to them and ordered his cabernet. The wine arrived and Bee waited for him to leave, ignoring the heat radiating off him from the handful of inches between them. he just sat there. 

Bee broke first. “What?”

“Hmm?” Gabriel asked, eyebrows going up on his forehead. Bee noticed the way it creased deeply. Strange given how few wrinkles he had. 

“Why are you just sitting there?” they demanded. He was supposed to take his cabernet and leave.

“The chair was free.”

Bee scoffed. “No. Absolutely not. Where’s your girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” Gabriel repeated with a scowl that did nothing to contort his perfect features. Too fucking handsome. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

They tucked their bookmark in between the pages of their Neruda and set it on the bartop, turning to look at him fully. “And you’re bothering me because?”

“Maybe I wanted to talk to you,” Gabriel replied easily, taking a sip of his wine. Bee had a strange urge to knock it out of his hand and shout _Why?_

Instead they kicked their legs up to rest their feet on the wood beneath the bartop, bringing their knees up so they could rest their arms on them. They had some options. Gabriel seemed _friendly_. The sort with faux smiles and happy waves across rooms. But they weren’t friends. And when someone sat next to you at a bar and said they wanted to talk to you, that usually meant one thing. _No girlfriend_.

“Were you going to hit on me?”

That warranted them a small response. A slight splutter into his glass. “And if I was?”

“I’d say let’s skip the boring bit. You can come to mine,” Bee said, baring their teeth in challenge. This was the way they liked it. Pick up a stranger to scratch an itch. Few and far between as those itches were.

If Mr. Perfect Teeth and Perfect Eyebrows wanted to fuck them, then they were going to take advantage of that.

Gabriel raised one of those perfect eyebrows and smirked. A sort of expression that made Bee want to punch him in the nose. But Bee had stopped punching people in the nose a long time ago, so instead they just stared and waited.

Then a phone was being pressed into their hands, body-warm and Gabriel was waving his hand. "Put your number in there. You can text me your address. An hour?"

Feeling a bit like the fun had gone out of the game, Bee did exactly that, dubiously pulling out their own phone when it pinged with Gabriel’s contact information. The reason they acted like this was to make the other person unsure. So they could have the upper hand. Not so some too-handsome classics professor could give them a smarmy smile.

Maybe he would be terrible in bed. He probably was. You couldn't be that good looking and good in bed.

Bee slammed back the rest of their drink and stood, very aware that they had to hop a little to get off the stool. "Fine. An hour."

Gabriel gave them a little condescending wave before turning back to his drink. 

Bee didn't know what to do with that.

* * *

Bee didn’t even bother to clean up their flat before they buzzed Gabriel up. Their flat was not “guest-ready.” Had their flat ever been guest-ready? They didn’t have guests. Crowley came over sometimes but he wasn’t someone Bee tried to impress.

The only allowance they made for having someone over to fuck was brushing the hair back from their face and making sure their hands were clean. That was the polite thing to do before putting your hands on someone’s bits.

Then they were opening the door for fucking Gabriel Winger. An American, a professor, and probably a right arsehole. He stepped inside. A fucking monolith. 

“Nice place,” he said, like it was a question.

Bee rolled their eyes. “No pleasantries necessary.”

They grabbed him by the front of his jumper and yanked him down into a kiss. Their teeth knocked and he yelped, but Bee pushed through it. Their difference in height meant that he had to bend at the waist and Bee had to rise on their toes. 

The kiss was mostly Bee pressing up, pressing in, controlling it because damn them if this wouldn’t be their show. They were going to fuck this man and carve the memory into their bedpost like a fucking trophy. 

But then Gabriel looped his arm around their waist and picked them up. They experienced a moment of weightlessness before they found themself perched on the sideboard with a tongue in their mouth.They emitted an undignified squeak as their arse collided with the bowl they kept their keys and post in. Gabriel knocked it to the side before he tightened his hands on their hips. Fuck, his hands were huge. Warm. Careful. 

Gabriel was kissing them, hot and easy, and the sensation tugged at something in their pelvis, heat spreading between their legs. God, when was the last time they had fucked someone? That girl they met at the Four Horsemen probably. Janet or something. That had been alright. She hadn’t been very experienced, fumbling and awkward when they finally got naked. She’d tried her best but Bee hadn’t gotten off.

Bee thought they might get off just from Gabriel tugging them to the edge of the sideboard and grinding into them. Heat was flooding through them and they were unbelievably glad they picked tonight to scratch the itch.

Blunt fingers were toying with the button of their jeans, the gesture a question. They knocked his hand away, undoing their zip themself. They pushed Gabriel away and hopped off the sideboard to shimmy out of their skinny jeans. Gabriel watched them, eyes hungry as he dragged his gaze down their legs. For the first time, Be realized that he was attracted to them. Really attracted to them. Interesting. Bee had thought this fuck had been a convenience. _Well, you’re here and I’m desperate._ Something inside them preened to know that wasn’t the case.

Then Gabriel was dropping to his knees and pushing them back against the wall. Their hip bumped the doorknob and they cried out in pain. Gabriel mumbled an apology before shifting them over and tugging off their knickers. Right to business, then.

At the first touch of his mouth on their cunt, they felt they might fly out of their skin. Fuck, it had been a long time. And counter to their expectations, he was good. At least at this. Pressing his face into them, grabbing their arse and urging them up until one leg was hooked over his shoulders and then the other until he was holding them up entirely. Their back was pressed against the wall as pleasure coiled tight inside them. It was good. Damn it all, it was so good.

Without warning, their orgasm crashed into them, making them shake as they sank one hand into his hair - soft - and the other scratched at the wall behind them. Every hair on their body was standing up as they cried out. Gabriel didn’t stop, still working over them with his tongue until they came again. Only then did he release them. One foot down. Then the other. Delicate. Slow.

Body shaking, Bee gasped, “Bed. Now.”

Bee tugged on his stupid polo neck and he tore it over his head as they pushed him back towards their bedroom. 

When they finally got him out of his jeans and briefs they had to pause. That was a cock. A big one. The sort that belonged in pornography where it was difficult to imagine the recieving party actually getting off while that thing was inside them.

“Erm,” they said, just staring at it. Maybe they needed to be drunk for this.

Gabriel seemed rather intent on getting on with things as he grabbed them by the waist and tugged them into bed. Bee was still in their oversized sweater which caught under his weight. The fabric snagged, yanking them down onto the mattress beside him and knocking the wind out of them.

He laughed. The fucker had the gall to laugh at them. In their own bed when they were about to get him off.

Scowling, Bee placed their hand in the middle of his chest and tried not to think about how small it looked. Or how much they liked the way the hair tickled the pads of their fingers. They pushed him back and climbed on top of him before ripping their sweater over their head.

They rarely bothered with a bra. There was no point. Their tits were the sort that could be mistaken for flat and they liked that. If they had anything bigger, they’d probably have gotten them removed the minute they could afford it.

So they’d never thought of their chest as a particularly erotic sight and yet Gabriel’s eyes dropped to their nipples and he made a sound low in his throat that sent tingles over their body.

Then he was sitting up and mouthing over their sternum. His stubble scraped over the sensitive skin and the clean smell of shampoo tickled their nostrils. His cock nudged their backside, hot and insistent, and from the nature of Gabriel’s distracted kisses on their chest, entirely unintentional. 

Bee rolled off of him and fished around in the bedside drawer, yanking out a box of condoms and throwing them at him. He caught it and stared at them in confusion.

“Put one on, idiot,” Bee grated out, reaching between their own legs to finger themself open. They were slick from their orgasms and Gabriel’s mouth. Two fingers slid in easily. They whimpered at the feeling of something inside them, but their own hand was not enough. Fingers too small. Not enough dexterity, barely able to dip inside.

Gabriel had tossed the box away and had slid a condom over himself but seemed in no rush to impale Bee on the thing. Thank fuck. 

Instead, he wrapped one arm around their waist and pulled them across the bed. They would have snapped at him for manhandling them but he was already sinking a finger inside them and it was exactly what they wanted.

It probably should have been embarrassing to moan so loud at the feel of a stranger’s hand. But one night stands had always been oddly freeing. You could be as sexually deviant as you wanted and then never see the person again. Tadfield might be a small place, but Bee thought they could handle some blushing if they ever ran into Gabriel at some shop. He’d probably be the one doing the blushing anyway.

“Put a second one in,” Bee gasped. The feel of his hand was better than their own slim fingers but they still needed more. And if they were going to get to that cock at any point, Bee needed to be prepared.

He slipped a second finger inside of them and leaned over them, hot breath huffing against their neck. He was so much bigger, body blanketing them entirely. They should have hated it. They should have felt suffocated.

Instead they felt -

“Fuck me,” they demanded, pushing at his wrist.

Gabriel swiped his glistening hand on the sheets and asked, “Position?”

“Just stick the damn thing in,” Bee said, kicking at his hip with their foot. He shrugged and took himself in hand, lining up and then sinking inside.

“MotherFUCK,” Bee cried out, curling in on themself at the burning press.

“Slower?” Gabriel asked, freezing.

“No,” they said, pushing up into him and trying to take more even through the pain. “It’s good.”

And it was. Once they got used to it. First shallow little thrusts and then something deep and mind numbing. They were probably saying things. Most likely curses because they hadn’t been fucked like this in a long time. Gabriel was breathing hard, head tipped into the pillow beside them as he fucked them slowly. He made a pleased sound in his chest that sent tingles over Bee’s scalp. They weren’t sure if they could come again but it felt good. Just on the far side of painful. With every thrust they felt an acute pleasure building at the base of their neck and then it was the flashing of sharp white lights behind their eyes as they cried out on an orgasm that wrung them out entirely.

Bee arched their back and tilted their hips, wrapping their legs around his waist. Gabriel’s movement grew erratic. Bee’s bed shook beneath them as he slammed one hand into the headboard and came on a long groan.

They both laid there, still connected, and breathing hard as they came down. Then Gabriel grasped the base of the condom and pulled out with a weird squelching noise before rolling onto his back with a sigh.

Bee immediately rolled out of bed, grabbed their sweater and disappeared into the en suite. They were going to feel it in the morning. It was probably worth it. Scratch that. Definitely worth it. Best sex Bee had had in years. Shame it was a fuck and chuck.

After a piss and a quick scrub of their face, they returned to find Gabriel still laying in the bed, practically tucked in. They scowled. “What are you doing?”

Gabriel looked at them like they were an idiot. “Going to sleep. What are you doing?”

“No,you’re not. You’re leaving,” Bee hissed, tugging on their pants. “I don’t do sleepovers.”

Gabriel’s expression turned thunderous and then went blank immediately. “Fine. I’ll get going then.”

He got out of bed and got dressed, leaving the room to scrounge for his poloneck. Ithad ended up on the coffee table. 

Bee followed him out and leaned against the archway to the kitchen, crossing their arms over their chest as they watched him finish dressing. “Thanks for the fuck,” they said. “It was pretty good.”

Gabriel froze in the motion of putting his wallet in his pocket. He whirled around. “Thanks for the fuck,” he repeated, lips curling. “Are you a sociopath?”

“Erm, no?” Bee said, not meaning to make it sound like a question but it did anyway.

“No. You’re right. Not a sociopath,” Gabriel said with a sneer. “What you are is an asshole.” 

Then he was slamming the door. The wall shook with the impact. Bee wrapped their arms tight about their torso and ignored the stab of guilt at the base of their ribs.

They stopped in the kitchen to fill a glass with water to take with them as they went back to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by Euny_Sloane

_10 years prior_

Bee jerked their rucksack tighter to their body and stared at the door in front of them.

Easy enough to slip in the front of the apartment building without having to ring the buzzer. Much harder to actually knock on the door.

"Fucking do it, coward," they hissed to themself, knuckles white around the strap of their bag.

They raised their free hand.

Rapped on the door.

A beat passed. And then another. And Bee’s heart was slowing down into something terrible and sickly. It was a mistake to come here. Luc’s offer had been bogus. He was fucked off his head in some back room somewhere.

Unreliable. That was what Luc was. He’d been unreliable for years and Bee had no idea why they kept putting themself at his mercy when they fucking knew better. And yet they could never shake that stupid hope. Luc was their brother. Their would-be protector. Or he used to be. And he said he had cleaned up his act. Five years sober, he said. Bee was just having trouble believing it.

The door creaked open and Bee saw the scrawniest man they'd ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. And they’d been around for more than one of Luc’s benders.

Or maybe scrawny wasn't the right word. Already thin-framed underneath a clear habit of under-eating. And probably using. Or at least a history of it.

The man scowled. Bee looked into his disconcertingly golden-brown eyes and scowled back.

Was Luc hosting junkies now?

"Who are you?" the man asked, bony fingers gripping the edge of the open door. His eyes had a sunken quality that sparked something in Bee. They wanted to herd him into the nearest chair and force feed him soup or something.

Bee bared their teeth, not appreciating his confrontational tone. "I’m Bee. Luc’s my brother. I'm staying with you."

The man's grip on the door relaxed slightly, shoulders dipping, making his thin torso even smaller under his ratty black sweater. "Right. Yeah. Luc’s, er...Luc’s not here right now."

"Are you Anthony then? The boyfriend?" Bee asked, pushing inside. They were tired of lingering in the hallway and being stared at by their brother’s boyfriend.

And they wanted a fucking glass of water after hiking up those stairs. Fourth fucking floor with no goddamn elevator.

Anthony—it was probably Anthony—watched them push their way through the apartment, mouth slightly open. Bee tossed their bag on the couch and marched into the kitchen.

"Oi, you can't just -"

"What? Come in? I’m not going to sit in the fucking hallway and wait for Lucian to show up whenever he fucking pleases," Bee sneered as they filled a cup from the taps.

Something about Anthony shrank even further, shoulders curling in as they stared at each other. It was brief and confusing and then he was pulling himself up to his full height. He was much taller than Bee, but who wasn't? "Fine. Don't call me Anthony. I'm Crowley.”

Bee raised their now full glass in acknowledgment.

"Fair enough. Don't call me Beatrice and we’ll get along fine."

* * *

Gabriel Winger was the sort of person who got what he wanted. He had gone to Dartmouth for undergrad and then completed his postgraduate studies at Oxbridge because that was the best. And he deserved the best because he was the best.

Gabriel had always succeeded at everything he put his mind to. Varsity lacrosse. Church choir. Academia.

His failure to success ratio was so low he'd sort of stopped considering failure an option. So when it happened, it always shocked him.

Why he even wanted this little mechanic character was a mystery. He tried to parse it out. Angry little mouth. Hard black eyes. Tiny hands. So small he could pick them up. They made him feel powerful. Except they seemed so firm and strong he knew he couldn't break them no matter what he did. He liked how strange that was.

He _didn’t_ like how much it stung that Bee—he didn’t even know their fucking last name—had tossed him out like so much garbage. Why did he have to go and notice this little ball of fury with sarcastic eyebrows? And they had to like poetry and do this endearing thing with their mouth when they were irritated, this little thinning twitch where their lips clamped together and the right corner pulled down. They had these tiny hands that curled so delicately around the spine of a book and even though Gabriel could see the smudges of dirt around their fingers, he wanted to cradle those hands in his palms. 

The sex had been new and slightly clumsy, but the way Bee tore at his clothes, their hungry kisses, the sharp gasoline smell that hung in the air around them had driven him crazy. The whole night had felt like it held promise, like there was a future where sex between them would be amazing.

And Gabriel had thought, _Yes, this_. _This is what you were looking for._

Except apparently not.

Bee's name was burning a hole in his phone and he kept thinking, _just text them_. If at first you don't succeed…

He unlocked his phone and pulled up their contact info.

 _Beelzebub_.

He laughed out loud. They’d put their fucking name in his phone as Beelzebub. Realizing that did something funny in his chest. 

A knock came at his door and when he glanced up, he saw it was Dr. Device. A good professor, but eccentric. The sort of person who believed in crystals and planetary alignments. Not Gabriel’s scene whatsoever. Or, what were the kids saying these days? Not his vibe? 

"Ah," he said, bringing out his best smile in full force. Fake it til you make it. "Dr. Device. How can I help you?"

Device gave him a smile that was just as fake, but Gabriel didn't react, just smiled placidly as she stepped into his office.

"I wanted to inform you that Newt and I are dating."

Gabriel was surprised enough his smile almost slipped. "Newt. Mr. Pulsifier?"

Device was dating the nervous grad student and part time department admin who yelped if you looked at him wrong? Device, who was pretty in all the right ways? Was dating Newton Pulsifer? Gabriel sighed.

"Yes," Device said, tipping her chin back defiantly. "I am telling you because it's serious and I don't want stupid departmental bureaucracy getting in the way."

Gabriel considered the options in his mind. Normally he would issue a reprimand for dating a student—though he was a grad student so the rules were much fuzzier—or a dismissal. The latter wasn’t possible due to current funding. Gabriel realized abruptly that he didn't care about Device’s love life. He was only frustrated because he was _envious_ , watching someone else’s romance take off while his own efforts fell short.

He sighed again. "Thank you for telling me. It won’t be an issue, but keep it professional. Please."

Device looked at him suspiciously before giving him a jerking nod. "Thank you, Dr. Winger."

"Sure thing,'' Gabriel said, trying to recover the smile but it didn't matter, Device was already gone.

* * *

After shutting down for the day, Gabriel hauled himself down to the grocery store to pick up a bottle of wine and a few ingredients for the weekend 

Should have been fine. Should have been great. And it would have been, if he hadn't spied a shock of black hair, tied back by a red bandana, small hands rummaging through the onions and retrieving one; teeth bared in satisfaction. A warrior preening over a kill.

Gabriel's cart squeaked.

Bee looked up.

Their eyes locked.

And Gabriel did what he did best: he smiled. "Hey there," he said with his most winning grin as he wheeled over to the produce section. "Nice to see you."

There were spots of color high on Bee’s cheeks and they glanced at the pile of onions beside them. "Yeah…"

"I'm surprised I've never run into you before," Gabriel said, still smiling. It was all he could do really. He wasn’t going to be uncomfortable. They were going to be uncomfortable. "Small town," he added easily, as if to explain his reasoning.

Bee narrowed their eyes. "I don't shop here normally, but I needed ginger root and my usual place doesn’t carry it."

"Oh?" Gabriel asked, oddly feeling like he was reaching out his hand to pet a skittish wolf. "And what are you making with ginger root?"

Bee’s scowl turned into a deep frown—a truly impressive expression as they folded their arms over their chest. They were wearing another one of those oversized shirts that hid the exact size of their body. But Gabriel knew. He’d held it in his hands.

"Why are you being nice?" they snapped.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows and plucked an onion from the pile, depositing it in his own produce bag. "Nice?"

"I was an arse to you. You don't need to make polite conversation or whatever," they grumbled, face getting steadily redder. Good. They were embarrassed. Gabe could definitely play that to his advantage.

"I like being polite," he said carefully, watching their reaction. They wouldn't meet his eyes. "You catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

Those black eyes snapped to his and he felt a frisson of something chase down his back. Like the world might erupt into lightning between them.

Then they rolled their eyes and the moment broke. "Look, I don't know what you want from me. Why you're being nice or whatever. But you can stop. I was a dick. You said so yourself."

"I'm pretty sure I said asshole," Gabriel pointed out before he could stop himself.

Bee looked at him sharply, eyebrows going up and then their mouth cracked open and they laughed. A real laugh. Loud and harsh and grating. 

Gabriel wanted to hear it again. This was fucking ridiculous.

Bee shook their head, smile still tugging at the edges of their thin mouth. “I’m nearly done here. Want to get a drink?”

Gabriel’s smile grew wider, genuine. There it was. Maybe he hadn’t failed. Maybe he just hadn’t tried hard enough.

* * *

The Four Horseman was a dank little place. Red lighting and hanging Tiffany lamp imposters making everything look dingy. 

Bee trudged into the place and hopped up on a bar stool, slapping the seat next to them. “Take a seat.”

Gabriel slid onto the bar stool with as much measured coolness as he was capable of. “I’ve never been here before.”

Bee raised a challenging eyebrow. “Well, welcome to the working class watering hole.”

Gabriel snorted as Bee waved down the bartender. “Two tequila shots,” they said, holding two fingers in a spread V.

Gabriel opened his mouth to protest but Bee was already smirking at him, a challenge. He leaned in. “Fine. But none of that rail shit.”

“What?” Bee sneered, chin tilting up and back. That jaw was so fine. Bird-like. “You want to take shots of Patron? That shit’s expensive.”

“On me,” he offered, matching Bee’s acidic tone despite the fact that all he wanted to do was grab them by the waist and haul them into his lap. 

Bee stared at him, unreadable, as the bartender looked between them. 

“Bee,” the man said. “Your call.”

Without looking away from Gabriel, Bee said, “If the idiot’s paying, then Patron it is.”

As the bartender readied the shots, Gabriel said, “You know when you said you wanted to get a drink, I wasn’t really thinking shots.”

“That’s because you lack imagination,” Bee retorted, taking their shot from the bartender. “Salt?”

The man slid them a salt shaker and Bee licked the back of their hand before shaking some onto the wet skin. The dart of their tongue drew Gabriel’s attention. Lick. Salt. Shot. Lime.

Gabriel watched the whole thing, transfixed, as Bee tossed the shot back. They sucked on the lime for a moment and then noticed he was staring. 

“What?” they snapped. “Take your shot.”

Gabriel didn’t exactly want to say that he was thinking about what it would be like to kiss them with the trace of tequila on their tongue. Would it be like salt or lime or something sweeter?

He did as he was told. He hadn’t taken shots since...had it been at Dartmouth? It burned exactly the way he remembered and he must have made a face because Bee laughed at him.

“So…” he began. This was an opportunity. Play his cards right and… “How long have you been a mechanic?”

Bee scrunched their face up in distaste. “Are you trying to do that _get to know you_ bullshit?”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” Gabriel pointed out and Bee snorted.

“We’re going to need to be drunker for this.”

Bee raised their tiny arm and waved the bartender back over. “Hey! John, can I get a glass?”

The bartender rolled his eyes and slid them a cup. “Don’t break it this time.”

Bee flashed a sharp grin and then turned back to Gabriel. “Give me a coin.”

Gabriel dug out a 10p coin and pressed it into Bee’s hand.

“Goal: bounce it into the cup. Loser drinks.”

“I’m not taking a shot every time I miss,” Gabriel said. “That’s how you die from alcohol poisoning.”

Bee rolled their eyes. “Fine. First to five wins. Then the loser takes a shot.”

It devolved from there.

Gabriel quickly found out that he liked how excited Bee got when they were competing, the flash of their teeth, the glint in their eye. They were unapologetic. Brutal. 

After Gabriel had won two rounds and Bee only one, the alcohol had started to numb the edges of his fingers. 

“You fucking idiot,” Bee shrieked as their shot bounced off the cup.

“Coin can’t hear you,” Gabriel said and Bee glared at him. He gave them a shit-eating grin that made them seethe

“Prick,” they grumbled, tucking their legs up under their body. The way they folded in on themself gave Gabriel that same urge to reach out and touch, to unfurl, to hold.

He missed his shot and Bee cackled. “Oh how the mighty fall,” they declared, clapping their hands in absurd delight.

Gabriel ended up drinking that round.

With both of them three tequila shots deep, Bee grabbed him by the wrist, their tiny fingers cool against his skin. “You ever play pool?”

Gabriel had. A very long time ago. He said as much and Bee grinned at him. Did they get more malevolent when drunk? 

Bee led him into the back corner of the pub where the light grew even more dim. The tequila was finally taking effect. His lips tingled. The room was smudged. And then there was Bee, crawling halfway up the pool table to rack the balls, one leg hitched up over the side so they could finagle the triangle rack.

Gabriel should have probably helped but he just stared. They made these stupid little faces. A scrunched nose here. A stuck out tongue there. A scowl. A pleased baring of teeth. His stomach swooped. He wanted to drag them off into some even darker corner and kiss them. The tequila was telling him it was a great idea.

Thankfully, Gabriel knew better than to listen to tequila.

“I’ll break,” Bee announced after finally clambering back to the ground. Gabriel just nodded. Bee’s oversized shirt had slipped down and he could see their clavicles, stark and delicate.

The clattering of billiards snapped Gabriel to attention and when he looked across the table he saw Bee squinting at him. They leaned their slight weight against the pool cue. “Are you really a classics professor?”

Gabriel picked up his own cue. “Yeah,” he said, confused. “Why?”

A one shoulder shrug before they glanced away. “You just don’t look like one.”

“Really? What do I look like?” Gabriel asked, expecting a challenge. 

Bee looked him up and down and Gabriel felt his neck grow hot under his collared shirt. 

“Too handsome,” they declared, black eyes unreadable. “You should be a car salesman or something.”

Gabriel was caught between the desire to be flattered and to be insulted. Too handsome. Was that even a thing?

“Well, you’re too tiny to be a mechanic,” he retorted and Bee looked at him sharply before their face split into another manic smile.

“God, you’re a prick,” they said, shaking their head in disbelief.

“And you’re an asshole. But we covered that,” he replied and Bee grinned, a wicked thing.

“Winner buys next round?” Bee asked.

Gabriel nodded. “You’re on.”

* * *

Gabriel didn’t often get drunk. He liked a glass of wine on occasion, but drinking like this was all very juvenile. It reminded him of frat house basements and sloppy make out sessions on ratty couches.

But with Bee, it was _fun._

“All I’m saying is that Latin is dumb,” Bee said as they both sagged against the wall, watching a new group of much younger people swarm the pool table.

Gabriel snorted. “That’s because you don’t know Latin.”

“Who says I don’t?” Bee asked, tipping their head back to look him in the eye. In the low red light, their black eyes turned obsidian.

“Do you?” he challenged.

Bee cracked another grin and took a long drink from the bottle of beer that had appeared in their hand at some point. Their throat bobbed and all Gabriel could do was watch.

“Nah,” they said and then they kicked at his shin. “Just giving you shit.”

“Maybe I think carburetors are boring,” Gabriel said easily, plucking the beer from their hand and taking his own drink. He liked this, this back and forth.

Bee’s nostrils flared and their grin turned sly. “Have you ever seen a carburetor?”

Under the din of the pub, their voice was a low purr, the scratch of a boot over gravel. 

“Um,” Gabriel managed but he’d made the fatal mistake of looking into Bee’s eyes. He was stuck, caught. Trapped.

“All slick grind,” they said. Gabe watched them run their tongue over the flat of their teeth and his stomach jumped. He felt like they had their hand wrapped around his throat. “You can really get in there, oiled up. Take it apart. Piece. By. Piece.”

Billiards clattered and Bee looked away, distracted by the sound. Gabriel finally took a breath.

“Most cars don’t even have carburetors anymore, numbnuts,” Bee said as they snatched the bottle back from Gabe and tossed it into the nearest bin. “I’m headed out.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure if that was an invitation or not but he followed anyway. The heat wave had finally broken and when they stepped outside the blast of autumn air cooled his tequila flushed cheeks.

“Thanks for the drink,” he said, because that was what you were supposed to say. He didn’t want to feel awkward so he wouldn’t. “Maybe we could do it again sometime.”

Bee cocked their head, brows furrowed, then they grabbed his hand and yanked him down the street. He was so shocked, he let them. 

Then he was being pressed against the brick wall of the pub, hands fisted in his button up as Bee rose up on their toes. “How about right now?”

His head was spinning and maybe he should have stopped them, but he didn’t. He grasped at their slim shoulders and ducked down to kiss them, swiping his tongue into their mouth. They moaned and melted against him, fingers growing tighter. 

He ripped himself away, trying to think straight. “We’ve been drinking.”

“Yeah,” Bee said like he was an idiot. “That makes it better.”

They dropped to their knees, hands already on his belt, slipping it open with sure fingers. Gabriel couldn’t get enough air. His stomach was in freefall.

He sank one hand into Bee’s hair and cradled their head in his palm. “Are you sure—” 

Bee placed their hands flat on his hips and slammed him harder against the wall. “If you don’t want me to stop, then shut up.”

They wasted no time, undoing his zip and mouthing him through his briefs. He groaned. This was gross. There were cigarettes on the ground, a dumpster three feet away, a puddle just behind Bee. They didn’t seem to care, tugging him out of his pants and sucking him into their mouth. He curled his hand into their hair and they growled. They grabbed his wrist and threw his hand away before pulling off. “Hands on the wall.”

Arousal pooled hot in his gut as he obeyed, only able to watch as Bee sucked him down, mouth stretched until they gagged around him. 

“Fucking monster cock,” they grumbled, pulling off and swiping at their mouth. 

“You don’t have to—”

Bee glared up at him. “Oh, I fucking will.”

They brought their hand to their mouth and spit into it, wrapping it around the base of his cock and stroking him. Then their mouth was back, hot and soft and fucking brutal. They wouldn’t back off. They gagged and kept going. They scraped their teeth against him just right until he hissed and scratched at the wall. 

His spine curled forward and he felt the tightening in his gut that meant he was too close. “I’m—”

Bee pulled off and surged to their feet, tucking their forehead into his chest and watching their own hand move until he spilled over their fist. He swore, his hands shaking as one came to grip Bee’s waist. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. He dropped his forehead to Bee’s hair, breathing hard.

They pulled away and slipped their red bandana from their hair, using it to wipe off their hand. He reached for them, tugged them back, and pulled them up into another kiss. When they finally broke apart, Bee stepped away

They smirked at him as he put himself back together.

“Thanks for the tequila shots,” they said, shoving their folded up bandana in their pocket. They gave him a salute. “See you around.”

Gabriel could not decide if what had just happened was a good thing or not. He wanted it to be. He wanted to see Bee again. Not in some hole in the wall, not a blow job in a dirty alley. Would they ever let him take them out? To dinner? To someplace nice?

He tried to picture it, but he couldn’t. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on updating this bad boy. I'm working my way through a few wips and life has been busy.
> 
> I updated the tags to reflect some of the content in this chapter that I didn't expect when outlining but which happened because you know. Characters. They don't listen sometimes.
> 
> CW: onscreen marijuana use, discussions of unhealthy relationship dynamics

Bee laid awake staring at the faded ceiling of Luc’s second bedroom and listened to their brother fuck. They rolled onto their side and clamped the pillow over their ears.

It wasn't that loud. But it was obvious enough. There wasn’t any moaning or screaming or anything pornographic, but Bee could hear the rhythmic squeak of the mattress. 

It was all Luc and Crowley—skinny and scowling, always scowling—seemed to do. Fight and fuck.

Bee wondered if it had always been like that. There were moments when they were all in the same room together that Bee thought they saw real love between them. Luc taking care of Crowley, checking in. _Are you feeling ok_ and all that shit.

But more often than not, it was Bee coming home to hear Luc, words sharp, demanding Crowley explain something. Crowley would snap something equally harsh back and Luc would storm off. Then, later came the fucking.

It was obvious as Bee had slowly settled into the guest bedroom that it had been Crowley’s de facto bedroom. Now, after he and Luc fought, he tried to hide sleeping on the couch like he was embarrassed for someone to know he hadn’t slept in the same bed as his boyfriend. Whatever Bee saw between them, it wasn't their place to judge the relationship. So they mostly ignored it.

They were busy driving out of the city every day looking at properties where they could finally stake their claim. Nothing good had come up yet. They didn't really want to set up shop in London. They wanted to find somewhere they could settle in, live out their life. Their own place away from everything.

Staying with Luc this month made it clear that the brother from 10 years ago really was gone. No Luc to stand up for them in this new world order. He was clean but he was an arsehole. All that NA bullshit making him holier than thou and a fucking prick.

They had all gone out to dinner and Bee had ordered a beer which was apparently enough for Luc to rip them a new one. Sobriety above all. Any substance was evil. Yadda yadda. Crowley had sat there nodding in agreement and glaring at Bee the whole time.

It hardly mattered. Luc was barely around. Working all the time. Gone at odd hours. He’d picked up the flag of bringing addicts to God and sobriety and acted like that made him king.

A loud groan from the other bedroom tore Bee from their thoughts. Growling, they threw the pillow across the room and slammed out of bed.

They marched into the hallway and through the living room, finally taking refuge in the kitchen where they could no longer hear the creaking of the bed or the slight knock of the headboard against the wall.

They filled a glass of water from the tap and stared out the window above the sink. It looked out over a small balcony that held a handful of potted plants Bee had seen Crowley take care of. Luc was gone so much that sometimes it was just Bee and Crowley awkwardly navigating the space and not saying anything.

But Bee had seen him care for the plants. It was one of the few times he didn't look quite so drawn about the mouth.

"Oh."

Bee closed their eyes in irritation. These last few weeks they felt constantly underfoot. They turned and looked at Crowley who was swamped in a too big t-shirt. It hung slightly off one shoulder like he was trying to be a sexy girl online. At least it would if he didn’t look so tired. And sheepish.

"Er, sorry. Just wanted water."

"Luc tire you out then?" Bee said, unable to keep the harshness from their voice. They were tired. They were grossed out.

Most of all, they were disappointed in Luc for being the sort of person who treated their boyfriend like this. A fight and a fuck.

Whatever. Not their problem.

"Excuse me?" Crowley asked.

"I can hear you fuck through the bedroom wall," Bee said bluntly. "Maybe keep it down or schedule your make-up fucks for a time that isn’t 1 AM."

Crowley’s nostrils flared and he crossed his arms over his chest, looking ready to snap.

"Look," Bee said with a sigh, holding up a hand before Crowley could say anything. "I'm just tired. I'll be gone in a week at the most. Just...keep it fucking down."

They brushed past Crowley, not looking at him.

They wanted out of here. They didn't like the flavor of the thing between Luc and his boyfriend. The flat was always tense. Bee was going to have a fucking stroke if they were stuck in it too long.

They were seeing an old garage in a place called Tadfield tomorrow. About an hour and a half outside the city. If it wasn't the one, then Bee was still leaving. They'd get a shitty motel with a shitty monthly rate and forget that they had hoped to have their brother back in their life.

* * *

Bee was not going to text him. Bee knew better than to text him. They would not text Gabriel Winger.

Friday had been fun. They’d let off steam. Maybe they would see each other on Wednesday and let off some more steam.

_It is Wednesday_ , they reminded themself.

Bee ground their teeth and refocused on taking the stripped bolts out of the old Ford they were working on.

Crowley was puttering around behind them in silence. Doing something about a cracked engine block. It was on his task list for the day, not Bee's, and they were distracted enough they didn't need to waste brain power tracking Crowley through the shop. He could take care of himself. 

There was a disconcerting bang of dropped metal and Bee sighed.

"Crowley?" they asked, rising to their full height and crossing to the garage doors.

Crowley looked dazed, staring at a coolant tank like it might hold some profound answer.

Bee tapped their wrench on the side of the car. "Oi. What’s going on?"

Crowley didn't even jump--his face just twisted up as he turned to look at them. "Nothing. Really. Not sleeping great."

_Right._ Bee scowled. "Anything I should know?"

Crowley ran his hand through his hair. He was wearing it loose, which definitely meant he was distracted. When Crowley got down to business, he always tied it back. 

"Do you think it's worth it?" Crowley asked, as if Bee had any idea what the fuck he was on about.

"What the fuck are you on about?"

Crowley's face cracked into a grin, self-deprecating and devastatingly normal. Bee relaxed in inches.

"Relationships. This whole shit. Should it be like this?"

Crowley looked at them, wide golden brown eyes, like he wanted their honest opinion. Their insight. They didn't fucking know. Before they could admit to it, Crowley groaned.

"What the fuck am I saying? Of course it's like this. It’s always like this."

He kicked the car in front of him petulantly. "Wish it fucking wasn’t."

Bee frowned, casting out for something to say. They wanted to support Crowley’s newfound...whatever with Professor Sunshine, but they didn't know how. He seemed to be doing a good enough job figuring himself out.

Crowley groaned. “Sorry. I’m being ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Bee replied. “But it’s fine. I won’t hold it against you.”

Crowley snorted. “Fat chance.”

* * *

Bee did not text him. They were better than that. They went home and rummaged through their shitty cocktail supplies to make their own old fashioned only to discover they only had ancient, bottom-shelf whiskey not worth cracking open in the absence of other ingredients.

They sighed and slumped against the kitchen counter. This was their ritual. Their weekly moment of calm. 

They supposed tea and poetry would do. They weren't exactly in the mood to do shots of shitty whiskey so they threw that idea away. They could also smoke one of the joints they kept rolled up in the back of the spice cabinet and order takeaway. They hadn't done that in a bit. Might be nice. A real stay at home sort of evening.

They'd just filled the kettle when their phone buzzed in the pocket of their chambray overshirt. They scowled and dropped the kettle on the hob with more force than necessary.

They slapped their hands dry on their leggings and pulled the phone free. Their heart skipped a beat. Which they ignored.

Gabriel.

_I thought I might see you out tonight. At Helen's._

Bee chewed the cuticle of their index finger as their thumb hovered over the screen. They could text back. They could put on shoes and go to Helen's, have their usual cocktail, and then maybe end up shagging Mr. America Big Cock in the loos.

The kettle rumbled beside them as they thought. Crowley was shagging someone. Or doing _something_. If Crowley could do it, Bee could do it. It wasn't hard to be in casual relationships. Bee could do it.

They typed out their reply and hit send, immediately slamming their phone face down on the counter and going back to chewing at their cuticle. 

_Not planning on it but you could come to mine_

Bee hadn't even started seeping their tea when the phone buzzed against the tile.

_Be there in fifteen?_

_Sure_

* * *

When Bee opened the door, Gabriel smiled and the expression made them want to slam the door shut in his face. He was too fucking handsome. Disgusting.

"Hi," he said like he was nervous. And happy about it. Bee turned around and headed back into their kitchen.

"Come in," they tossed over their shoulder. "I had plans for tonight if you want in."

Before Gabriel could say anything, Bee hopped up on the kitchen counter and climbed onto their knees. Opening up a cupboard, they fished around behind some spices and pulled out a little jar.

When they slumped back down onto the edge of the counter, Gabriel was standing there, looking at them, eyebrows raised. He was wearing a gray button down shirt today, crisp and tucked into slacks with a shiny black belt. He looked like an American preacher.

Bee unscrewed the lid and pulled out their prize. "You smoke?"

Gabriel crossed the kitchen and leaned against the worktop a few drawers away. His jacket was still over one arm as he folded them in front of himself. "Didn't anyone ever tell you smoking was a gateway drug?"

Bee scoffed. "Anyone who says that has never met an addict."

They held the joint to their lips and flicked the lighter, inhaling until it caught. The taste of marijuana filled their mouth and they shut their eyes. They didn't do this very often, but when they did, they let themself enjoy it.

Bee held the smoke in their lungs as they held out the joint to Gabriel who took it delicately, two blunt fingers brushing Bee's smaller ones.

"I haven't smoked since Dartmouth," Gabriel said with a self-deprecating grimace.

Bee exhaled a long line of smoke and snorted. "Of course you went to fucking Dartmouth.

Gabriel smirked but didn't say anything. It was the sort of look that spoke of familiarity, of a shared joke. Bee realized they liked it. He pressed the thin wrap of paper between his lips and inhaled, eyes fluttering shut. He was so pretty.

Bee cocked their head and watched Gabriel draw the joint away. A sharp inhale before he opened his eyes and met their gaze. An exhale.

He handed back the joint and coughed into his elbow. "Sorry. Been a while."

Bee tucked their legs up onto the worktop, effectively rolling into a ball as they took the joint back. "How old are you, if Dartmouth was so long ago?"

"How old do you think I am?" Gabriel asked, tossing his jacket on the worktop like he didn't care about it. Even though it probably cost an arm and a leg.

Bee narrowed their eyes. A few shots of gray in otherwise black hair. Fine lines around the eyes. "Forty," they guessed and Gabriel laughed. It boomed in the kitchen, so loud that Bee could feel it in their chest.

"Forty-three," Gabriel said, taking the joint back when Bee handed it off. "Close though. You?"

"Thirty-five," Bee said. The weed was beginning to round out the edges of the world. The tips of their fingers were tingling. Their teeth felt smooth under their tongue. 

"Young," Gabriel remarked and Bee rolled their eyes, snatching the joint back and tossing it in the spoon holder by the toaster. 

"Younger than you, but not young," Bee said, baring their teeth. Gabriel turned so he was facing them, one hip propped against the worktop.

Bee hated his face. Hated how much they liked it. How much they liked the steep curve of his cheekbones, the depth of his eyes, his wide shoulders and barrel chest. He was big. He was tall. He was handsome.

Bee wanted to wreck him.

"Kiss me," Bee said, tongue thick in their mouth.

Gabriel flashed a grin, his eyes a bit glassy from smoking, before drawing closer. He dropped one hand beside Bee’s hip, closing his grip around the lip of the sink. The other slid over their thigh, pulling their legs apart as he cradled one of their calves in his palm, drawing their legs off the worktop so they dangled on either side of his body. _Fuck,_ his hands were big.

"You want me to kiss you?" he asked, eyes darting over their face as he slid his hand from their knee to the juncture of their hip. They felt his fingers toy with the hem of their shirt.

Bee’s heart was racing; heat pooled between their legs. "Yeah."

And then they were being kissed. Bee had expected it to be sharp and hurried. Like their kisses that first night or even in the alley, but Gabriel moved over them slowly, brushing their lips together, chaste and easy. He kissed the corner of their mouth and murmured into their cheek, "Can I go down on you?"

Bees hands clutched in the pristine fabric of his shirt and they nodded. "Fuck. Yes."

Gabriel’s chest rumbled in a low growl that should have put Bee off. Stupid hyper-masculine bullshit. But all it did was send a rush of warmth low in their belly. They were already wet for him.

Gabriel dropped to his knees on the unswept kitchen tile, fingers hooked in the waistband of Bee’s leggings. He looked up at them and when they nodded, he tugged them down. They lifted their hips to help him and he brought them down over their knees, pulling them down over their ankles and tossing them aside.

Gabriel pressed their knees apart with his hands, broad and warm. He let out a pleased hum and kissed the inside of their thigh. 

"Can I take off your panties too?"

"Ugh, don't say panties," Bee said, even as they lifted their hips and let him remove their knickers.

Gabriel laughed, a gust of air against newly exposed skin. All of Bee’s nerves felt hyperaware, sparking under his drifting fingers.

Then Gabriel grabbed them by the hips, tugging them to the edge of the worktop before licking into them with one wide swipe of his tongue. Bee cried out, body curling forward over his head as they grasped at the worktop and his hands pressed up under their shirt to cradle their waist.

He teased them further open with his tongue, lightly tracing the edges of their cunt in a way that had them already desperate for it. One hand withdrew and then they felt it on their pelvis, spreading them open and then _fuck_.

Gabriel grazed their clit with his teeth, a sharp point of sensation before sucking it into his mouth.

Their hand slid to the lip of the sink as they tried to find purchase.

Gabriel pulled off and licked them lightly again before pausing to ask, "Do you like this, or do you want fingers too?"

Bee had to cast through a significant fog of pleasure and weed to piece together an answer. "No, uh, mouth's fine. For the first one."

Gabriel laughed. "For the first one," he said, slightly mocking. "Who says you get a second?"

Bee scowled and kicked at his shoulder with their foot. "Shut up. Get back to work."

Gabriel snorted and shook his head but did as he was told. And damn. The man knew what he was about, quickly figuring out Bee liked to be fucked long and hard on a tongue before they had their clit sucked off. 

He kept doing it just right and Bee would be so close and then he'd back off. They couldn't tell for certain, but they were pretty sure he was smirking against their cunt as he teased them. They would get him back for that. 

Before they could call him out, he lapped at them once and then drew their clit into his mouth sucking first lightly and then hard with an obscene wet noise. Bee's orgasm hit them. Hard. Made them cast out for something to hold onto. Their hand collided with the faucet and the spray turned on, the hose dislodging and water going everywhere. Namely, directly onto Bee’s legs and Gabriel’s face.

Gabriel pulled away and fell on his arse. "Fuck, are you trying to drown me?"

Bee slapped at the taps until the water shut off. They looked down at Gabriel on their sad, off-white linoleum and busted out laughing. His face was shiny with spit and their own slick and now there was a giant patch of water all down his front, his hair undone from some of its product and flopping everywhere.

"What?" he demanded, but Bee just kept laughing until he joined in too.

Finally, when Bee could breathe, they said, "I feel like there's a squirting joke in here somewhere."

They hopped off the counter and offered Gabriel their hand. He took it and stood.

"Fuck, you're lame."

"Only lame people say lame," Bee pointed out, trying their best to walk in a straight line to their bedroom despite the wobbly post-orgasm feeling in their hips.

"Where are you taking me?" Gabriel asked, letting Bee lead.

"Need to get you a dry shirt," Bee said, pushing Gabriel down on the edge of the bed before going into their closet to rifle through it. They probably had something old. Would have to be huge. Most of Bee’s clothes were oversized. They liked loose things. That didn’t mean much in the face of Gabriel’s stupid broad shoulders. 

In the very back of their closet, they had an old plastic box that contained things they didn’t like to think about. Inside was the bag Bee had stuffed their things into the night they had dragged Crowley out of Luc’s apartment. There were two or three of Crowley’s old shirts from when he had lived with them. And at the very bottom was one of Luc’s shirts that Bee had accidentally taken in their rush to leave.

A bright green, cotton t-shirt that said Mountain Dew on the chest in glaring red and white.

They tossed it to Gabriel and he held it out in front of him. It unfurled. When he finally took it all in, he cocked a dubious eyebrow at Bee. "You didn't strike me as a Dew fan."

Bee scowled and shut the closet door. "It's not mine, numbskull. Now give me your clothes so I can put them in the dryer."

Gabriel handed over his trousers and shirt but before Bee could walk off, he said, "Light air dry. No heat."

Bee rolled their eyes but when they stuffed the clothes into the dryer, they did as he said.

When they returned to the bedroom, they froze in their tracks. Gabriel, standing in the middle of their dim bedroom in only black briefs and the loose green t-shirt. Bee sucked in a breath. Their chest hurt. Why did their chest hurt?

Bee must have made a face because Gabriel frowned. He seemed about to ask a question but Bee interrupted. They didn't want to answer any questions right then.

"I was gonna order takeaway and finish that joint," Bee said lazily. "We should do that and then we can get your rocks off." 

Gabriel didn't press the point and let Bee drag him back into the living room. They pushed him down onto the couch before retrieving the half smoked joint.

"Do you smoke often?" Gabriel asked after the second pass.

Bee shook their head. "Once in a blue moon. If the mood strikes."

"And the mood struck?" Gabriel said with a grin best described as shit eating. Or perhaps punchable.

Bee took a drag and held it in their lungs. A long exhale. "Yeah. It did."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by LoudAlligator but I did some major edits since they reviewed so any remaining typos are my own
> 
> MAJOR CWS this chapter (please proceed with care, this is the history of car trouble so...you sort of know what's going on): domestic violence, blood, off screen drug use, misgendering, bad relationship dynamics (familial and romantic), negative perspective on NA's approach to sobriety
> 
> if you want to skip the flashback, you can jump to the first chapter break. Take care!

CWs: Misgendering, domestic violence, mentions of drug use

The place in Tadfield was perfect. Well, almost perfect. Bee had resigned themself to the fact that perfect was out of their price range. But with a little elbow grease it _would_ be perfect. It was an old mechanic’s garage so it had all the necessary equipment, lifts and ventilation and everything. It might have been dirty, but Bee thought it would do just fine.

The price of living in Tadfield was reasonable. And the best part? There was only one other mechanic in the whole town and Bee only had to do a little research to discover he was absolutely fleecing his customers. 

It was a good day. Bee was excited. They would move over to a motel in Tadfield while they looked for a place to settle down and they could be done with Luc and his weird religious bullshit for good. 

The thought ached slightly. A sharp pain in the pit of their stomach. But they had lost their brother year’s ago. Maybe they had hoped for reconciliation, for the return of the brother they had loved so much. But that person was gone. Replaced by this doppelganger. Bee didn’t even want to know.

In the following years, Bee would ask themself if it was their fault. They’d lay awake some nights and play over the argument in their head, wondering if they could have said something different. Had they really been so cruel? Were they the reason Luc had fallen off the wagon?

Bee tried not to blame themself. They hadn’t forced Luc to use. That wasn’t how it worked. And yet the thought simmered at the back of their mind.

And sometimes, when they looked at Crowley, saw that crescent scar, it was even harder to forget.

It happened like this.

Bee was packing their things in their room. Luc had been gone all day — like always — and they were going to leave that night. They’d wait for him to get home and then break the news. It made their stomach twist with nerves. They knew it might not go well. Luc liked control and sometimes it seemed like he liked an audience to his little soap opera of a relationship with Crowley. Bee didn’t care. They couldn’t. They were going to leave and be done with it.

Luc came home with take out from Crowley’s favorite place, a curry joint down the road. He was in a good mood when Bee emerged from their room — soon to be Crowley’s room again.

Since Bee had come to stay with Luc, they hadn’t had much time with their brother. They’d all gone to dinner a few times, but their time in the actual apartment had been spent with Crowley. After the weeks Bee had stayed, they’d come to the conclusion Crowley was a decent bloke. He definitely used to use if the marks on his arms were anything to go by. Bee had picked up bits and pieces of his history with Luc. They didn’t like that it sounded as if they’d met at NA. The power differential there made their skin crawl. But Crowley seemed to be doing well. He was looking for a job which Bee helped with a bit when they had free time. Scouring the internet for work was no fun for anyone. 

The three settled at the table. Luc pressed a kiss to Crowley’s head before taking his own seat and the smile that earned him from Crowley was blinding. In a flash, Bee saw the happy side of the relationship. Not just the fighting. 

A silence fell as they ate. Bee was uncomfortable and maybe they were projecting, but it felt like the whole room was uncomfortable too. But it didn’t matter. They were leaving.

Happy family dinner fell apart quickly.

Bee set aside their spoon and looked at Luc. “I’m leaving tonight.”

Luc dropped his spoon into his bowl. “What?”

“I’m leaving,” Bee repeated, unfounded frustration rising in them. 

“No, you’re not,” Luc said sharply. “Where are you going to go?”

Hackles raising at his tone, Bee frowned. “I don’t need to tell you that.”

“Bullshit, you’re my sister and you’re going to tell me.”

Bee saw red. It had been years. Luc had been good about it. Always using sibling, the right pronouns, the right name. 

They lurched to their feet. “Fucking excuse me?” they demanded.

“I’m not letting you run off into the night and not know where you are.”

“Oh, that’s fucking rich. Did you conveniently forget that time you stole my shit and fucked off to god knows where to get high?”

Luc stood as well. He towered over Bee, broad and big and terrifying. Bee stood their ground. 

“I apologized.”

“That doesn’t do shit,” Bee spat. “You’re still a fucking addict. That’s why you spout all your cult bullshit. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Fuck you,” Luc snapped. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know enough.”

With that Bee stormed out of the apartment, forgetting their things and not giving a shit. They had their wallet so they got a hotel room. They’d stop by the next day for their stuff while Luc was out. Luc was always out.

Bee wouldn’t have said some of those things if they’d known what Luc would do. If they’d known they would come back the next day to grab the rest of their things and find Luc with his hands on either side of Crowley’s face, pushing him into the wall, pushing, pushing…

Sometimes, when terrible things happen, we force ourselves to forget. Sometimes, the memories stick in your mind like roots, consuming everything you know and growing into something fierce and terrifying.

What Bee remembers for certain is this:

They remember kicking Luc in the back of the knee. They remember shoving him to the ground. They can imagine the scratch of a duffle bag in their hand, the weight of a laundry basket. Why a laundry basket? Clothes half folded inside like someone had been doing chores. Crowley had been doing chores when Luc — 

Sometimes the memory twists and becomes laced in darker things and Bee’s wrist is grasped in Luc’s too strong grip. They spit in his face and run.

They know there was shouting.

They remember pulling into a petrol station and talking to Crowley in a low voice as his face bled into his palm, red dripping down his wrist and soaking the cuff of his sleeve.

They wish they didn’t remember any of it.

All they could think was that it had to have been the fight with Luc that started it. Had he been high? Did he always hurt Crowley? Was this a habit?

How had they not known?

It made a sickening sort of sense. Maybe this was what had made Bee so uncomfortable, the boiling threat of violence just beneath the surface of their relationship.

They slept in a hotel for a couple of days and from there it wasn’t even a question when they found an apartment. Crowley moved in with Bee. He was quiet. It was like living with a ghost that slept on the couch.

Bee waited for the other shoe to drop.

* * *

Gabriel Winger was fucked. He should have known it was a terrible move from the start, getting involved with this angry, little mechanic. But they’d had this spark in their eye that he couldn’t ignore, that he couldn’t stop thinking about.

And now he was sitting on their couch, a little fuzzy around the edges from sharing a joint while Bee shoved pizza in their mouth and griped about the nature documentary he had put on.

“Well, what do you want to watch?” he demanded as Bee sneered around a mouthful of cheese.

“I don’t know. Why are we watching something educational?” they demanded. Their black-brown eyes were dilated and their cheeks were flushed. They’d pulled up their legs onto the couch, stuffing their cold feet under his bare thigh. He didn’t mind. It was relaxed. Intimate. He would let them complain at him about documentaries if it meant their little feet stayed tucked under his leg.

He let his hand fall to their ankle and rubbed his thumb over the delicate knob of bone. “You wouldn’t pick.”

“Boo,” they said before they swallowed around their too-big bite. “Do you like horror movies?”

"Of course you like horror movies," Gabriel said, rolling his eyes.

Bee poked him with a greasy finger. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you only wear black and have this whole cranky goth thing going on."

Bee grinned. They tossed their gnawed-on pizza crust into the open box on the table and Gabriel couldn't find it in himself to be disgusted by their lack of manners.

Bee withdrew their feet and Gabriel barely had a moment to mourn the loss before he had a lapful of mechanic. Their slim thighs slotted on either side of his as they hooked their arms around his neck. Without thinking he brought his hands to their back to steady them. Bee smiled down at that, mischievous and pleased. Then they kissed him and it tasted like cheese pizza. He would have complained. He should have complained. Except apparently all he could do was clutch at them, pull them closer as they traded progressively deeper kisses. Bee made a little noise of pleasure into his mouth and that drove him to slide his hands up under their shirt. Their skin was cool and soft and they weren't wearing a bra. He wondered if they ever did.

He didn't have a lot of time to think about it because Bee tore off their oversized, ratty, black shirt and he couldn't _not_ kiss their clavicles, press his lips to their sternum as they clutched at his hair.

They rose up on their knees and said, "Take off your pants."

Even through the rush of lust that he couldn't deny, Gabriel hesitated. "Shouldn't we—condom?"

"I’m on birth control and I'm clean," Bee said, eyes going sharp. "Are you?"

"Yeah but...I'd rather we used one."

Bee huffed and rolled their eyes. "Fine but when I get back your pants better be off."

"Aye aye, captain," Gabriel quipped which earned him a half-hearted shove before Bee's slight weight disappeared. He watched the slim line of their back as they walked into their bedroom and took a deep breath. He liked them. He really fucking liked them.

* * *

"Do we get to watch a horror movie now?" Bee asked from where they had collapsed on the couch as Gabriel cleaned himself up in the kitchen.

"Did you seduce me so you could watch a horror movie?" Gabriel tugged back on his pants before lifting Bee's legs so he could drop onto the couch beside them. They squawked in protest and glared when he resettled their feet in his lap.

"Yes," they snapped. "Did it work?"

"Fine," Gabriel said with only a small amount of huffiness. He liked to think it was the amount of huffiness the situation deserved.

Bee grinned, a flash of sharp teeth, before grabbing another slice of cheese pizza and hopping off the couch.

“We’re going to watch The Thing,” they declared, rummaging around in their TV stand. When they squatted down, Gabriel could see the bare backs of their thighs, smooth and pale. He’d had those thighs around his ears not an hour ago. He wondered if he could find his way back there. He certainly wouldn’t complain.

Bee turned back, the slice of pizza hanging from their mouth like they were a dog. “Remote,” they demanded from between clenched teeth, waggling their fingers. Gabriel tossed them the remote from the coffee table and they grunted their thanks.

After some fiddling, the movie started playing and Gabriel settled in for what was sure to be some campy 80s film. He would have made some rude comment, but Bee hopped back onto the couch and tucked their feet under his thigh. That was good enough.

He kept expecting to get his clothes shoved at him and summarily told to get out. But Bee hung up his shirt and trousers when the dryer beeped and came back to sit with him as body horror played across the screen.

His buzz was mostly gone, but the gore still felt a bit surreal. "You like this sort of thing?"

Bee had rearranged their tiny limbs, going from feet beneath his thigh to tipped against his side. He'd put his arm around their shoulder and they hadn't groused. He sort of wanted to kiss their hair, but he thought that might ruin the moment so he did nothing.

Bee grunted. "What? Are you scared?" they asked darkly, a hint of teasing under their confrontational tone.

"Scared? No. Disturbed? Yeah," Gabriel said frankly. "A man's face just exploded."

"Yeah, that's the good bit," Bee said and tucked even closer. It made his stomach jump and his heart thrum.

Ah shit. This was a real thing. These feelings.

And when the movie ended and Bee dragged him to bed, he was pleasantly surprised that - after some spectacular reciprocal oral sex - Bee didn't even complain when they fell asleep together.

He was even more surprised when their alarm sounded at 5:30 and they shoved at his shoulder. "Rise and shine," they snapped. "Get the fuck up."

For some reason he'd pictured Bee as a late riser. The opposite of a morning person; the opposite of Gabriel who liked to wake up at 5:30 so he could jog and shower before work. He stared at Bee as they got out of bed and started humming their way through their routine. It seemed like they liked to wake up early too.

Gabriel was hard pressed not to take it as a sign of compatibility.

"Are you going to just stare all day?" they asked archly. "I thought you had a job."

He cursed. They were right. He had places to be.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge delay on this one. I think I was waiting for it to be perfect and I just needed to write it.
> 
> CWs: implications of past sex work/using sex as payment

Crowley was quiet. Quieter even than he had been back in London. There was no designated space in the apartment for him so he would disappear for long hours, appearing only to sleep on the couch. When Bee asked where he went during the day, he said he was applying to jobs but he’d taken to wearing sunglasses to hide the angry red scar beneath his eye. It probably didn’t help his chances of finding work, associations of Jim Jones and drug addicts not helping his case.

But Bee didn’t say anything. It wasn’t their place. They barely knew Crowley. He lived on their couch by accident. By circumstance. By misfortune and the last shred of pity in Bee’s heart.

Bee didn’t feel pity for people. The world was a harsh place. They’d had to fight and claw their way through it and if they managed it, small and queer and poor as they were, then some good-looking recovering heroin addict could manage it just fine.

Except Crowley insisted on paying half the rent from the start even though Bee had budgeted for the one room apartment in the shit corner of Tadfield and it wasn’t as if Crowley was really taking up space. He didn’t need to pay. But Bee knew a flash of pride and spine when they saw it. They’d been like that once and that fact, that Crowley reminded them of them not so long ago, was probably what brought along the pity. They wanted him to stop paying. They knew he didn’t have much saved. Working odd jobs while living with Luc could hardly have afforded him much of a nest egg. It wasn’t as if Bee needed the help. It turned out the nearest mechanic was two towns over so the opening of a new shop in Tadfield in the spring was timely. Business was booming. Occasionally, there was so much work that Bee thought about hiring help.

And occasionally, they looked at Crowley’s long limbs and thought he might be alright at slithering into an engine.

On a rare day that Crowley was in the apartment around dinnertime, Bee made some extra spaghetti. Nothing fancy. Straight from the box and jar. They thrust a bowl of the stuff at Crowley’s chest, startling him from where he was scrolling through his phone. He looked at the bowl of spaghetti as if it had come straight from outer space instead of Bee’s cleanest pan. 

“What?” they demanded, winding their fork through the noodles. It had been a long day and they weren’t in the mood for whatever _you don’t need to feed me_ nonsense that was about to come out of Crowley’s mouth.

What Crowley did was worse. He dropped his bowl and phone on the coffee table and grabbed Bee’s. Bee swore and tried to snatch it back, but Crowley took their hands and tugged them into a kiss. Bee froze, all their muscles locking in surprise and distaste as Crowley tried to part their lips with his tongue.

It was indescribably awful. Not because Crowley was bad at it but because it was Crowley. Who used to fuck Bee’s brother. And who was _Crowley_. Bee shoved him in the chest as hard as they could. He fell back against the arm of the couch, eyes wide.

“What the fuck are you doing?” they spat, swiping their sleeve over their mouth.

“I can’t pay rent this month,” Crowley said like that explained why he—aw, fuck.

“That’s fine. I told you _that’s fine_ ,” Bee snapped.

Crowley wasn’t listening, stuck in whatever decision he’d made while Bee had made him fucking spaghetti. “It’s fine. Whatever you want. I’m good for it.”

He sounded nonchalant. Which was worse. Which made Bee want to throw the spaghetti in his face.

“What I want,” Bee said, making a split second decision. “Is for you to haul yourself off this couch and come to the garage tomorrow at 8. I’m putting you to work.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “I don’t know anything about cars.”

“You can learn. Now eat your spaghetti,” Bee said before heaving themself to standing and marching off to their room where they could eat their noodles in peace.

They’d talk to Crowley more about the job tomorrow. When they felt less like punching him in his stupid nose.

* * *

Having Gabriel around turned out to be easy. Bee hated it. Men—relationships weren’t supposed to be easy. That’s why they were single. Relationships were always trouble. People getting clingy or having expectations.

But Bee could text Gabriel at 7 PM on a Friday and he’d ask _what’s up_ and they’d have him over and under them within thirty minutes and he’d stay without asking questions and sometimes their sheets would smell like him and they found they didn’t mind and it was _confusing_.

They tried to cling to some remnant of their previously held habits. Spending weekends alone, going to the grocery store at odd hours, their Wednesday drink. With increasing and frightening regularity, their thoughts drifted to Gabriel whenever they were alone doing the most mundane tasks, doing things they had always done happily. It was ridiculous. This was the sort of distraction that happened to other people.

And then Gabriel got busy.

 _Sorry_ , the text read. _There’s all this interdepartmental drama. I can’t see you this week. Let me take you out next week. To make it up to you_.

Bee had read it, hated the way it made their palms sweat and heart race and stomach twist, and immediately decided not to reply. 

They went to their Wednesday drink, happy for an excuse to know Gabriel would definitely not be showing up. No reason to hope he would.

They brought Natalie Diaz’s first collection with them, sort of a comfort. They remembered enjoying it years ago but not even through the first poem:

_Gabriel? Never heard of him. Know a guy named Gabe though—_

They closed the book with a growl and pulled out their phone to re-read the text. It was the same, a small rejection. Which was fine. Gabriel was allowed to be busy. Bee was busy sometimes. They were busy right now. Doing...things.

It had been weeks (Months. Two months?) of this thing and Bee needed to end it. They didn’t do months. It was against their better judgment. 

They turned off their phone and ordered a second drink.

**

_Sorry about this week. It’s been hell. I miss you_

Bee dropped their phone on their desk and swore. They picked it up and stared at the screen and then swore again. 

“Fucking shit on a stick.” 

With their heart in their throat, they read the text again. _Miss you_.

Shit.

“Oi, what’s going on?”

Bee slammed their phone onto their desk face down. Not that Crowley could see the screen but they felt entirely caught in their musing. What were they doing having _feelings_ about this?

Crowley frowned at them and raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Nothing!” Bee said, knowing it was the most conspicuous thing to say. 

"Obviously not,” Crowley said wryly, slapping his rag on the table. “You’ve been all jumpy since Monday. Cough up."

Bee grimaced and leaned back in the desk chair. It squeaked. Who else would they talk to if not Crowley? They didn’t have to say everything. Maybe it would make them feel better.

They tried to summon the words to explain: _I’ve met someone. There’s this guy._

_I know a guy named Gabe though…_

"It’s not about Luc, is it?" Crowley asked, voice tight.

It was the last thing Bee expected and it made their hackles raise. "No. Fuck, no. I’d have told you."

"Then what’s got you—" 

Bee slapped their hands on the desk with an angry growl. Fuck it. "I’m sort of seeing someone, alright? It’s not a big deal."

Except it was a huge deal and they were a fucking liar.

Crowley dropped the rag on the ground and gaped at them. Bee was going to hit him. 

"Don’t look at me like that," Bee snapped. "I didn’t even point out your hickeys on Monday."

Crowley turned red and cleared his throat. "What does _sort of_ mean?

"What?" Bee asked.

" _Sort of seeing someone_ , you said," Crowley explained.

Bee kicked at the desk in frustration. It pushed them back in the desk chair with a squeak. They hit the far wall with an oof and it did nothing to calm them down. "It was a one night stand that sort of...ballooned,” they tried to explain. “Not the plan, Crowley. Opposite of the plan."

Crowley shrugged. "I dunno, maybe that’s good. If you like them and all."

Bee groaned again. They pictured Gabriel, his stupid punchable super model face. His pretty eyes. The way he kissed them like they were perfect…

Fuck.

"I don’t fucking know,” they said sullenly. “They’re the most insufferable person I’ve ever met and I just...let’s not talk about it."

_I miss you._

Bee was going to fucking lose it. Maybe if they dug their hands into an engine they’d be able to forget the words burning a hole in their pocket, in their brain, in their useless black and burned out heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble of a quote from Natalie Diaz's [Abecedarian Requiring Further Examination of Anglikan Seraphym Subjugation of a Wild Indian Rezervation](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56353/abecedarian-requiring-further-examination-of-anglikan-seraphym-subjugation-of-a-wild-indian-rezervation) which is an amazing poem as is most of Diaz's stuff


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter again but just trying to keep this updated also this gabe pov decided to be short *shrugs*
> 
> CW: drug use, problematic opinions about addictions expressed by characters, lots of swearing, relationship fighting

Crowley was good at the work. Bee had known he would be and they felt no little amount of smugness any time he picked something up after only being shown it once.

He also wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty so when they didn’t have the time to teach him something complicated, it was easy to put him on oil change or detailing duty and leave him to it while they took on the more complex things that came into the shop. Overall, easy as pie.

They should have known it wouldn’t last.

They’d lived several years of their life with an addict for a brother. They knew what addicts were like. They knew addicts fell down and sometimes didn’t get back up. They should have expected it and they hadn’t and worst of all they had never expected to feel disappointed. When had they started relying on Crowley? Believing in Crowley?

He was slumped on the couch, eyes distant and glassy and Bee knew. Sharp as the fading red scar beneath Crowley’s eye, Bee fucking knew.

“You’re not in charge of what I do,” he said, sounding angry. Bee hadn’t even said anything. What was there to say? Bee knew his history. Crowley knew theirs.

“No, I’m not,” they said, thinking back to Luc and the arguments they could sometimes overhear through the thin walls of the London apartment. They didn’t want to be their brother. “Do you want to be using?”

Crowley scratched at his upper arms and looked away, a nervous habit of his that was hard to see behind the sunglasses but they were off somewhere, forgotten for once. “Once an addict always an addict, right?”

“Bullshit,” Bee said. They wanted to throw something, kick something, light something on fire and scream. “Do _you_ want to be using?”

“No! Alright? But that’s—I’m going to. I’m always going to,” Crowley said, curling his arms around himself.

Rage continued to rise in Bee’s chest, an awful tide. They heard Luc’s old apologies repeated over and over. _I won’t do it again, I swear._ That had hurt every time. The hope. The knowledge it was probably a lie. But the fucking defeat in Crowley’s voice was almost worse.

“No,” Bee said through gritted teeth and Crowley snapped his head up to look at them.   
“I think you have a fucking a choice.”

* * *

Gabriel used to have a picture in his mind of his ideal partner. This theoretical partner was tall, shared his competitive streak, was gorgeous, accomplished, interested in healthy eating and fitness and fit perfectly into his five year plan. They would get married, have one child, get a retirement home by the seaside. 

With Bee in his lap, oversized t-shirt swamping their thin frame, as they single-mindedly sought their orgasm, he wondered how he had pictured anyone but them. Their wild black hair, their frowns, their black-brown eyes. The way they seemed to not care that Gabriel was handsome and well off. The mention of a five year plan would probably have Bee scoffing in disdain.

He liked them so much his chest hurt sometimes. 

He tried to convince himself early on that it was just the sex, that it was good and he was high on dopamine and bonding hormones. But the time he spent in Bees shoddy apartment watching crappy movies, cooking, sniping at each other, talking about poetry (and wasn’t that something? Bee loved poetry) was something he looked forward to. Whenever their schedules didn’t line up or Bee didn't invite him over for reasons they didn't explain, he missed them. He sat on his expensive couch and graded essays and looked over his fitness plan and missed them.

He had no idea if the feeling was reciprocated.

Sometimes, when he let himself think about it too much, he grew angry with himself. Where was the Gabriel Winger of three months ago who tried on women like some people leased cars? The last time he had gotten this attached this quickly had been in college, a relationship that had ended miserably through distance. 

Besides, he wasn’t a coward. He should just sit Bee down and talk about it. Define the relationship and the young people said. It was how mature people went about things. He would do that. Soon.

After they rolled out of bed, Gabriel followed Bee out into the living room where they began to sort through the pile of mail that seemed to perpetually grow on the table by the door. Their hair had somehow gotten messier in between the sex and standing up and stood in wild tufts around their head, the black shirt they’d been wearing hung down to their thighs like a dress and they seemed utterly at home. Stupid as it was, Gabriel felt honored to be privy to such a sight as he went into the kitchen to make something to eat, another habit of theirs. Fuck and then food.

Bee hopped up onto the counter beside him as he chopped carrots for a quick curry. They hummed their way through bills and then froze when they came upon a dark blue envelope. They ripped it open and read the enclosed paper before pulling out a second, smaller envelope inside. This one they hesitated before opening.

“Get something interesting?” Gabriel asked lightly as Bee slit open the second envelope. It was clear from the expression on their face that whatever was inside wasn’t good. Their nostrils flared.

“A birthday card.”

“It’s your birthday?” he asked, stomach dropping. He’d had no idea he missed it. But they shook their head.

“No. It’s in the summer. This is late. My cousin sent me the card. It’s from my brother. He doesn’t have my address.”

This little explanation was said frankly, delivered in typical, flat Bee manner as they scanned the open birthday card. 

“You have a brother?”

“We don’t talk,” Bee said as they tossed the card aside. “So I don’t talk about him. Need any help with the curry?”

Gabriel frowned at the brush-off but directed them to start the onions. They cooked in silence for a while before his curiosity got the better of him. “Why don’t you talk to your brother?”

“I just don’t,” they said, poking at the chicken in the pan with the wooden spoon in their hand. “Do you have siblings?”

“No,” Gabriel said. “Only child.”

Bee snorted. “Explains the ego.”

Gabriel laughed at that because he felt like he should, but the silence that returned between them felt tense. He didn’t like the obvious misdirect. Something was wrong. He could see it in the tense line of their shoulders. He ran over the exchange in his mind as he washed the cutting board. He wanted to pick up the discarded envelope and see what exactly was inside that had them so distressed. Why would their brother not have their address? Was he dangerous?

“What did the card say?” Gabriel asked as he dried the knife he had used to cut the carrots, knowing even as he said it that he should have kept his mouth shut.

Bee slammed the lid back on the rice cooker and turned angry eyes back on him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Drop it.”

“I think I should know at least _something_ about your family. We’ve been dating for nearly six weeks.”

Bee frowned. “Dating? We aren’t dating.”

Gabriel threw the towel in his hand onto the counter. “What the hell are we doing then?”

“Fucking, Gabriel.”

“I have feelings for you!”

“That’s not my problem.”

Gabriel bit back the yell in the back of his throat. It tore from his lungs anyway. “I’m not doing this then! We spend every weekend together and you want to stand there and tell me this isn’t a relationship? That’s bullshit. I’m out. I’m done.”

“Fine. Leave,” Bee snapped. “I told you from the start what this was. It’s your fault if you got caught up.”

“I never said it wasn’t my fault.” Gabriel jammed his feet into his shoes and slammed the door shut behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of an end of an era here. Sorry it took so long to finish! Thanks for sticking with me <3

\Bee hated when Luc sent cards. He hadn’t done it in over a year. The last one had been for Christmas of all things. Like they’d had a bunch of nice ones together or something.

Growing up, Christmas had been okay. Another family holiday. Nothing terrible. Nothing memorable. Nothing worth sending a card over like they had something to be nostalgic about.

Bee didn’t understand why Dagon even forwarded it along. Bee hated the little notes Dagon included. The _are you sure I can’t give him your address?_ Yes, Bee was fucking sure. It wasn’t so much for them but for Crowley. Luc couldn’t know where Crowley was. Bee didn’t think their brother would come looking, come ready to hurt him, but Bee wouldn’t risk it. They didn’t want a relationship with their brother anyway and getting a fucking trite Happy Birthday card with red balloons on the front made their stomach turn to lead.

Other people didn’t have this problem. Other people didn’t have their cousin as an intermediary between their brother and them. Other people didn’t feel dread and fear and hate when they opened a birthday card from their brother.

Gabriel Winger didn’t even have a sibling to get birthday cards from and if he did, he’d probably be fucking ecstatic to get them. He probably got birthday cards from mum and dad right on time. They probably called and cared. Hell, they probably visited.

Fuck that. Fuck Gabriel.

Except as the curry bubbled on the stove and the door shut behind him and Bee heard their own words echoing back at them, they seemed needlessly cruel. So what if they hadn’t defined the relationship. Even Bee knew—emotionally stunted as they were— that this was more than fucking. That Gabriel cared about them. That they... _fuck_. That they cared too.

They shut off the burner and swore. They hated caring.

The only other person in their life they cared about was Crowley. And that had happened by accident. That had happened because Crowley had fallen into their lap and out of some stupid sense of responsibility, Bee had picked him up and taken care of him until he was able to take care of himself and all that taking care of had gotten them attached. Attached enough to personally drive him to and from therapy appointments. To give him the old beat up Bentley that he still treated like his fucking pet.

Maybe Gabriel had wheedled his way into Bee’s heart exactly the same way. Circumstance and proximity. They sighed and looked up at the shitty, flickering light in their kitchen. They needed to talk to Crowley about this. Maybe he would be able to give them some perspective on it.

Stupid fucking hearts and their stupid feelings.

“I hate you,” Bee grumbled to themself as they shoveled rice into their bowl to eat plain.

* * *

The garage was quiet when they went into work the next morning. It was early and Crowley would be in late. He’d texted something nonsensical about his professor that made Bee fairly certain he’d walk in around noon, well-fucked and stupid. It wasn’t ideal for the conversation Bee wanted to have, but it would have to do.

They’d struggled to sleep the night before. They kept replaying the conversation they’d had with Gabriel, the way his jaw had set when they’d snapped at him, the pull of his shoulders as he’d turned away. They knew they had lashed out and none of this was Gabriel’s fault. Maybe fixing this was as simple as an apology, an _I want to be in a relationship with you._ Except the thought of those words in their mouth made them want to vomit.

Bee turned on the stereo system and decided it was a Taylor Swift sort of day. Crowley could mock them all they wanted but this was their garage and they would listen to Taylor if they wanted. Relationship troubles _always_ meant Taylor.

They were alternating between paperwork and playing out various apologies in their mind when they heard Crowley stomping into the garage. They heard the supply closet slam open and concern rose inside them.

They went into the main garage and found Crowley stepping into his overalls, struggling with the sleeves with manic energy. The concern rose higher.

"What's going on here?" they asked, frowning.

Crowley whipped around. "Nothing,” he snapped. “Leave it."

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t what was supposed to be happening. Crowley’s text the night before had been happy, had been a head’s up about coming in late because he’d had a good night.

"No,” they said, planting their feet.

"Yes," Crowley snarled, trying to brush past them. They put out a hand to stop him, to try to get him to talk. When Crowley was like this, he usually just needed to talk. To blow off steam. Or, barring that, to work.

Crowley knocked the hand away and bared his teeth. "Get out of my way, Bee."

"No,” Bee said more forcefully.

"I’m fine," he said and his voice broke.

"No.” They hadn’t seen him this upset in years. Not since rehab, not since some of those therapy sessions that tore him up.

"For once in your goddamn life, leave it," he said as he finally pushed past them.

Bee grabbed his arm. They needed to say something. This wasn’t the morning for this to happen. They felt raw and wounded on their own and Crowley needed something from them that they didn’t know how to give. "I leave it and you fuck up. So I'm not going to leave it."

"Fuck up?" Crowley sneered whirling back to face them. "Right. If _I don’t babysit Crowley, he’ll go off the deep end._ As if I’m going to relapse. Is that what you fucking think of me?"

That wasn’t what Bee had meant at all. They were tired. Their heart hurt. They needed...they needed Crowley to be okay but what were they meant to say?

“That’s not what I think and you know it,” Bee said, barely keeping their temper. Crowley was already leaving, stomping off, being a child about all this. “Come on. I’ve got a list of things we can work on today. Get whatever this is out of your system.”

Then Crowley snapped. He shoved them away. "Fuck you and fuck this. I don't need you to fucking hold my hand.”

Bee watched him leave the garage. Their stomach twisted and their eyes pricked.

They ignored it and went back to work. It was all they could do.

* * *

They sent Crowley some texts, trying to be reasonable. He wasn’t going to relapse. He wasn’t. He hadn’t yet and he wouldn’t. They didn’t need to worry.

They worried anyway.

They’d fucked up changing an air filter at the garage—fucking child’s play— and decided their head wasn’t on straight enough to keep working after they cut open the back of their hand. Home was too quiet though.

They ordered chinese takeaway and chewed their nails on the sofa as they watched old sitcom re-runs.

Bee knew what they were going to do before they did it.

_Can we talk?_

Gabriel’s reply was faster than they thought.

_Why?_

Bee gnawed at their lip. They had to do it. It sucked but they had to.

_I’m sorry._

_I’ll come to yours._

_You never come to mine._

_I’m trying to make amends here_

_Ok. 15?_

_15_

* * *

Gabriel Winger’s house was exactly the sort of house Bee expected. Modern. Sleek. Too many windows. Impeccably clean.

When Gabriel let them in, he looked uncomfortable, stepping aside and taking their old, ratty coat to hang in a hall closet. He was wearing some thick-knit cream sweater that made him look cozy and very huggable. A word Bee had never thought before in their life. Huggable. Ugh.

“Do you want...water?” Gabriel offered and Bee nodded, hoping accepting some hospitality might make him be less weird.

They ended up settled at some sort of breakfast nook at the back of the kitchen.

Bee sipped at their water.

Gabriel fidgeted.

“What did you want to talk about?” he prompted.

“I fucked up.”

His eyebrows shot up, wrinkling his perfect forehead. Stupidly handsome.

“Excuse me?”

Bee rolled their eyes and put their hands out on the table. Gabriel’s eyes drifted to their bandaged hand.

“You’re hurt,” he said, reaching for their fingers.

“Yeah, it happens in my line of work,” they replied but they didn’t stop him when he took their hand in his.

He hummed in thought and didn’t let go of their hand.

They kept talking.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. To you. I was...upset.”

“About the card.”

Bee swallowed. Nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Bee said. “But I should. You...Look, there’s a lot of stuff about me you don’t know. And today some shit happened and I wanted to talk to _you_ about it but I couldn’t because I fucked up and I wanted to unfuck it and I didn’t know how.”

Gabriel’s usually placid expression grew soft. “You can talk to me now.”

So Bee did.

Not everything. But about their parents and Luc and the fight with Crowley that morning and by the end of it, their eyes were pricking again.

They looked out Gabriel’s window over his back garden and he didn’t let go of their hand.

“Do you need to go check on your friend?”

Bee shook their head. “He’s fine. Fine enough. I think.”

Gabriel brushed his thumb over their fingers and said, “Ok. What do _you_ need then?”

Bee cleared their throat, hating the tears clogging it. “Honestly? A distraction.”

They tugged their legs up under them on the seat and drank their water, retracting their hand from Gabriel’s grasp. “I couldn’t focus on shit at the garage. Or at home. I kept thinking about...about everything. Crowley. You.”

Gabriel grinned. “You thought about me?”

“Shut up,” they bit out but there was barely any heat in it. This was where they wanted to be. Fuck it all. A one night stand and a back alley blow job and now they wanted to be in Gabriel Winger’s house so he could comfort them because they were _stressed_. They wanted to think it was pathetic. But actually, it was sort of nice.

“I’m sorry,” they said quickly and Gabriel’s grin faded. “I shouldn’t have said this didn’t mean anything.”

“Jesus,” Gabriel breathed as he pushed his hand through his hair. “I honestly didn’t expect you to say that.”

They hugged their knees. “I like you,” they said even if it was weird to say. It was true. “I’m not good at liking people.”

“I’ve found that pretending to know what you’re doing is a great place to start when you want to get better at something,” Gabriel said, a smile creeping back onto his face.

“You would say that,” Bee said, rolling their eyes.

“I give good advice!” Gabriel protested and Bee snorted.

“I can’t believe I want to have sex with you,” they said, shaking their head and Gabriel leaned across the table and kissed them.

They did end up in bed. Of course they ended up in bed. On Gabriel’s disgustingly comfortable mattress and between his soft sheets.

It was a place where things would always make sense between them even when they fought or disagreed (which would be often), but here, that fell away.

When they finished, they laid there to catch their breath for a moment. Bee broke the silence first.

“Do you want to be my date to a wedding?” Bee asked, heart thumping in their throat.

Gabriel turned his head on the pillow and his smile was blinding. God, all those straight white teeth. For once, the overwhelming feeling in Bee’s gut wasn’t so much _I’d like to punch that face_ but more _I want to kiss him_.

“I’d love to.”

Bee grinned back and Gabriel asked, “Just for clarity, am I going as your boyfriend or…”

“Isn’t boyfriend a little immature—”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes. Fine. Boyfriend.”

"See, now if you practice saying it-"

Bee decided the best way to shut Gabriel up was to give in to the urge and kiss the stupid smile off his face.

He didn't seem to mind whatsoever. 

**Author's Note:**

> the upcoming chapters of this explore a lot of bee and crowley's past so if, ultimately, you see something i failed to tag for lmk


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